Chapter 2: Travel is Dangerous

I spent the next two days apologizing to Ben for "embarrassing" him at the party; though we both knew that he wasn't embarrassed and I didn't mean it. I swear, Ben's one of my best friends, but he acts like my father – I sat through a half hour lecture on how I needed to start "playing the game" if I ever wanted to get anywhere. That's just the thing. I don't want to play any games. I like what I'm doing, and so what if it doesn't pay the big bucks! The only person I embarrassed at that party was me; and I certainly didn't give a shit.

We parted ways that night thinking the same thing – "my friend is nuts".

But this was the nature of our relationship. I laughed at him, he laughed at me; we were both jaded enough to take none of it seriously and so we got along perfectly. This is what I told Jane during her lunch hour the next week. She looked at me slyly and said, "You two were made for each other…"

I laughed, "Right, too bad he's not into what I have to offer".

"Ohh," Jane sighed, disappointed. "Well every girl needs a gay best friend in her life. I could certainly use one right about now."

"Well, I could introduce you – you're definitely more his type than I am."

"You mean he would go shopping with me?"

"For hours on end." I smiled.

"What would you do then?" Jane smirked at my tired old jeans and t-shirt ensemble.

"Find the nearest coffee place and bury my nose in a book." I returned satisfactorily.

"I think I should meet this Ben guy, he could help me turn you into a lady!"

"Now why would you want to do that?"

"You're right," she chuckled and winced, "I sound like my mother!"

"Besides, ladies don't do what I do. Can you imagine me at CB or The Wall doing an interview in a dress? It's hard enough being a girl in this business!"

"Ahh men, who needs 'em anyways? So do you have an interview tonight?"

"Yah, new band out of Boston, I can't remember the name…something to do with automobiles."

"You may want to figure that out before you get there."

"Probably. Here's to hoping they're good; I hate writing bad reviews."

I hadn't completely forgotten my awkward repartee with Lestat, but it certainly wasn't at the forefront of my mind as I walked out onto the now empty street in front of The Wall. The show was a success; the band members of "Flying Automobiles" were both talented and articulate, a rare occurrence indeed. I walked towards my apartment feeling elated and refreshed. There's nothing like a good concert to rejuvenate the mind.

I was already planning my review in my head, going over my notes from the show in my little notebook. My feet knew their way home; I'd made the walk so many times. Unfortunately this time I was so absorbed in my thoughts that I failed to notice I was no longer alone. Behind me, someone made a throat-clearing cough.

I jumped. Who wouldn't?

Before I even turned around he was standing beside me with that awful smirk saying, "Didn't your mother ever tell you not to go out walking by yourself at night?"

I glared at him, annoyed and afraid. "My mother didn't believe in vampires."

He laughed; and for a split second I thought I saw something in his face that I still can't describe in words. The best I've been able to come up with is, well, humanity.

"Shouldn't you be in some mansion in California?" I was hiding my fear behind sarcasm.

"I'm on vacation…" He looked me up and down like he had at the party; I swear my whole body jolted to the point my knees almost buckled.

"That's funny, most people go to the Bahamas."

"I'm not 'most people'."

I wanted to say no shit Sherlock, but I held my tongue. I opted instead for "What do you want?"

"Nothing in particular, I was just out for a stroll and who should I stumble across but the little journalist who hates my music."

"I never said I hated your music, I said you were too big for me."

"And just how do you know that?" He asked with a more than suggestive smile.

I turned beet red at the implication; lucky it was dark. "You know what I meant." I shot back with my best no-nonsense tone and tried to avoid his eyes.

"Of course, of course. So then does that mean that you do like my music?"

"It has its own appeal, I suppose." I wasn't giving him anything after the last comment.

"But still, you won't go for the exclusive interview with me. It's still yours if you want it."

"We've been over this. Thank you, but no."

"May I ask if there's anything more holding you back besides my popularity?" He stepped ahead and stopped right in front of me, blocking my path.

My mouth took on a mind of its own. "Yes, actually, there is. I don't trust you."

"Me?" He gazed down at me with mock innocence.

"Yes, you! I may not write for Rolling Stone but I'm not so far out of the industry that I don't hear things."

"Things? What things?"

"What happens to all those groupies, huh? People do file missing person reports on occasion."

He scowled for a second, but regained his smile just as quickly. "I am what I am. And besides, who am I to forego prey that comes to me so willing…" is all he said. But there was a suggestively malicious tinge creeping into that smile. I was horrified, but not as much as I thought I should be.

I sideswiped around him and started walking more quickly. My door was only another block down. He scoffed from behind me, "Surely you can't deny that everyone has to eat!"

I didn't even turn around, all my muscles were tense waiting for the attack to come.

It didn't. He appeared beside me again. "I apologize for my crudeness, I'm afraid I've become far too used to saying what I please."

He was apologizing to me! What in the bloody hell was going on?

I found myself saying, "That's alright," before I could even think. What was I doing? Fortunately, I didn't have to think anymore. The staircase to my apartment was just a few feet away.

"Well, this is me," I said, climbing the stairs as quickly as I could while trying my best to maintain whatever calm I still had.

"What, not going to invite me in?" He called from below.

"Do you think I'm crazy?" My key was in the lock and I was halfway in the door before I finished the sentence.

"Until next time then…"

I closed the door behind me, locked it, and collapsed onto my couch. My heart was beating so fast I thought it might tear right out of my chest. What did he mean next time? What did he want with me?